Separated out as if your dreams were just the limbs
Of every tree you never planted
All the dreams that you recanted
…Until the sound of saying “this is what I always wanted” is a song that you replay before the static all begins

Holding up your candle made of ashes in a tray
For all the wishes never granted
And the love that they supplanted
…Because they were a lullaby for when you couldn’t sleep and so you found a bit of peace in their eventual decay

Questioning if anyone has ever said a word
That wasn’t salivating fiction
Or engulfed in predeliction
…So all the little syllables are jagged in a way that keeps you ready to escape from every sound as if a bird

Looking far away from all the hope you couldn’t see
On a horizon made of fire
That refuses to retire
…So everything is apropos of what you wanted sparingly
I know one day you’ll ask me, “how exactly will you care for me?”
The best that I can offer you is, “carefully…”